


If You Fall, I'll Catch

by mrsmischief



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsmischief/pseuds/mrsmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way this is my most personal fic so far. OC and Tom attend an engagement party of her cousin's, but because she has a lot of (mental) demons haunting her, he ends up being her saviour/comfort, in a way. <br/>Warnings: deals with eating disorders & self-esteem issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Fall, I'll Catch

That day felt like one of the worst days of my entire life. It was the day me and Tom attended my cousin's engagement party, and it was all just absolutely dreadful. Now, you're probably wondering how a party with my family and boyfriend can be so horrible? Well, when you have certain issues with both yourself  _and_  with food, things tend to get interesting.

This time, though, I was lucky, because Tom was there with me. It was our first more official party together, but he had already met my family and they all loved him, especially my incredibly nosy aunt. I knew they were all probably wondering how I had even managed to catch something as gorgeous and wonderful as him, but most of the time I didn't care. That day... Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry about how unequal we must have looked, Tom in all his tall, skinny fabulousness, and... me. He knew how it was for me, however, and when he noticed I was tensing up a gentle squeeze of his hand would calm me, his thumb rubbing my hand gently, and slowly I would relax again.

Basically it was all fine until it was the time for the cake and coffee and all that. My history with food was complicated to say the least, even though it had been slowly getting better now. I knew I had to eat something, it would be both suspicious and impolite if I didn't, so I took as small a slice of the chocolate cake as I could. My older aunts and my grandmother all bemoaned how skinny I was, of course, and how I  _should definitely take another piece, come on darling, otherwise you'll wither away!_ But I didn't want to. I knew I wasn't skinny, not even something you could call slim or fit. I wasn't obese, either, but if I had to pick one word to describe myself you could bet your ass it would be something not-so-flattering. My BMI was on the bigger side of normal, but still normal. What wasn't normal was the way I saw myself when I looked in the mirror, and how that affected my thoughts.

We had stayed at my parents' house the previous night, and as you might guess, the day hadn't begun in the best possible way. I was in fairly good terms with my parents, but when I had to stay under the same roof with them for longer than a day... I turned into my 15-year-old self again, and arguments were impossible to avoid. In short, we had managed to get that started in the morning, and if we add the bickering to my dissatisfaction with myself (worse now that I had been scared I wouldn't fit into my dress after all - god bless shaping underwear), it really wasn't the best possible day to pretend to be happy at the party.

And then, it all got even worse. I had seen my cousin and congratulated her, and heard everyone praise her - "How beautiful!" "She will look fabulous at her wedding!" - and envied her because somehow she had managed to get two dress sizes smaller. Petty, I know, but that was me. She had always been the pretty one out of us two, anyway, but now, when she was fit enough to walk on any catwalk, all I could feel was pangs of jealousy. I just wanted to run into the bathroom and throw up everything I had just eaten. The only thing that kept me in place was Tom's hand, still holding mine.

With that reassurance, I managed to keep still and keep smiling and talking and smiling and talking and pretending everything was alright, just like I had been doing for the last ten years. The party went on as they usually did, dull and full of gossip and occasional chatting with your Auntie Val who still had the energy to come here even though she must have been about 120 or so by then.

After a couple of hours, though, Tom and I were separated when he was telling my uncle about his job ("How  _fascinating_!"), and I desperately needed the loo. I excused myself and walked towards the corridor where I knew the toilet was; the party was held at my cousin's own house so I knew my way around easily. On my way back, however, I overheard the conversation between my mum and my aunt Lily.   
"...and Charlotte is looking just lovely today, absolutely lovely," my mum mused.   
"Yes, and your daughter is almost glowing, too," my aunt replied, before lowering her voice significantly, "indeed, do you know if she and Tom might be... expecting a new member to the family?"

I didn't stay to listen to what my mum replied, but rushed back to where Tom was, still talking to my uncle and a few other people. I clutched his hand, still smiling, but from the worried glance he shot my way I knew he realised something was wrong. Maybe my hand was squeezing his a bit too tightly, maybe my smile was just a tad too bright to appear natural, or maybe he felt the slight trembling of my body. Whatever it was, he was determined to not let it go without making sure I was alright.

When we had a chance to escape for a moment, he pulled me into an empty guest bedroom.   
"What is it, darling?" he asked, his hands smoothing my arms, eyes full of worry.   
"I... I heard my mum and my aunt and..." I mumbled, tears threatening to break through my mask of happiness as I told him what I had heard them say. He knew my history with eating and not eating and all that, and knew why I'd find the false rumours of my pregnancy so upsetting.   
"I mean... I know I don't look my best now and I've gained a bit of weight lately and all but..." I sobbed, trying to break away from Tom's hold.   
"Excuse me for a moment, I just need to go and fix my makeup..." I tried, but Tom just shook his head sternly, knowing exactly  _what_  I'd really do if he let me go into the bathroom now. His expression was serious, lips pressed into a thin line, jawline tight, and even though we had been experimenting with occasional spanking and other light BDSM, I knew this look wasn't dominant in that way at all. He was simply keeping me from falling back to my old habits.

He pulled me into his arms, hugging me tight and kissing my hair.   
"Oh, darling..." he whispered, his voice full of pain. That was the only thing that kept me from going totally over the line again: the pain I knew I already caused him.   
"I'm so sorry," I replied, "so sorry I'm like this and put you through this again and again and you could do so much better really but you're stuck with me and--"  
"No. Stop it. Now," he commanded, his eyes still soft as he lifted my chin with his fingers.   
"None of that.  _None_."

He gently turned me around, making me face the mirror on the blue wall as he hugged me from behind.   
"I wish you could see what I see," he said, his eyes so full of love that I felt that small choking feeling in my throat.  
"What do you mean?" I asked, wiping my eyes with my fingers.   
"This," he replied, kissing my bare shoulder and moving his hands up and down, gesturing at me.   
"I love every inch of you, and I wish you could, too."

I said nothing, just kept looking into the mirror.   
"I know you think your thighs are disgusting," he began, quoting my own words from the healing diary I had kept and let him read, too, "but I love them, I love their shape and how they give you strength when we go running and how they wrap around me when we make love. You think your stomach looks horrible and too big and makes you look repulsive and disproportioned, but I love the curves you have and how soft you are against me. You loathe your small breasts because for some reason you think you need to look like a Victoria's Secret model to be worthy of anyone's love, but you know what? I love you, and I love your breasts. I love them because they're yours, darling. They're small, yes, but that doesn't make them any less lovely. And, if we're lucky and you're willing, I hope one day they will feed our child... What could be more beautiful than that?"

Tom looked at me through the mirror, tilting his head to the side as if to emphasize his point and challenge me to disagree.   
"I could go on all night, and I know it's quite possible you'll never see yourself the way I see you, but I hope you'd at least be able to get a small glimpse of it one day. You're wonderful, and I love  _you_ , and your looks are only a very small part of that. I love your kindness, you sense of humour, your caring nature, your stubbornness..." He paused to kiss my cheek, smiling now. I couldn't help smiling with him, but he wasn't done yet, oh no.

"I love how you always want to be prepared for everything, even grocery shopping. I love how you always insist on sleeping on the right side of the bed, and how you steal the duvet from me at night. I love how much you deny your love for romantic period films, even though they always make you happier when you're ill or feeling low. I love you, my dear, every single bit, mentally and physically."

I turned around in his arms, feeling at least a little bit better, and gave him a kiss on the lips.  
"Thank you. Really."  
"Anytime, love."  
"I love you, Tom. So much."  
"I love you, too. Do you think you want to go back to the party, or..? We can always have an early start on our journey home, I can come up with some excuse for our early departure, work or an allergic reaction or something..."  
I shook my head.  
"No, thank you, darling, but I think I'll be ok. Let's stay just for a little while longer, and then we can go..."  
He nodded, lifting my hand to his lips and kissing my fingers.   
"Just stay with me, please," I added as we stepped towards the door.  
"Of course," he replied, entwining his fingers with mine.   
"Ready?" he asked, hand on the door handle.   
"Ready," I replied, my heart swelling with love for the man next to me. He was the best I had ever had, my anchor to sanity, my love,  _my light_.


End file.
